


feathers; lack thereof

by kavinsky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Person, Fluff, M/M, but i want to have this archived so, hardly even fluff?, i'll murder myself, yes you can murder me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavinsky/pseuds/kavinsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi's overthinking dumb things about a cute setter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feathers; lack thereof

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i know a lot of people don't like first person, but this is something i wrote just to write. i don't really like first person, but it's kind of like stretching after a long nap, you know? so forgive me if my characterization is rank. that being said, i love to hear constructive criticism xx

I can’t really say when it changes, but I can’t look at him the same way as I used to. Something about the way he speaks, now, the way he smiled at me yesterday. It’s starting to change. He hasn’t been as much himself, not quite, with the comments and the flirting and being an idiot, but he seems more himself than ever. Just, different.

_Different._

Is that too broad of word? It could be bad, in that sense, but I don’t know if it’s bad for him so much as me.. If I can’t act on anything, then that might be for the best. What could it mean if this is going to be a good different? It could be, if Oikawa.. Are the details even important if I’m never going to act upon them? 

But the way his glances are more subtle than before, eyes quieter, then shaking his head like I haven’t noticed every single time. The details in the way he stands, now, and his hands, and his lips and for everything to seem so different. What does it mean, exactly?

If it means what I’d like it to mean want, then Jesus, how can I even say anything? That’d mean admitting it. But admitting something that weighed as many tons as it does can’t be a good idea, to say the least. How much can that break? It can break his voice, break his train of thoughts. What else?

I don’t know how much I can stake. I don’t have anything to spare.

Is that too safe? Too contradictory? 

I could pull my hair out. It can’t stay like it is. I know I have to do something, say something, if I could actually ever get any words out. If I can even remember what words are; sometimes, when he looks at me with those eyes. It was already hard enough to say what I mean half the time. I can’t help but to wonder if he _knows_ that all, too. God, just thinking of that is enough to make me feel ill.

I didn’t avoid him, per se. More along the lines of not directly interacting with him. I didn’t engage. It’s different, I swear, but not to Oikawa, apparently, because when I show up for practice fifteen minutes late I’m met with a ear-piercing:

“Iwa-chan!”

I, visibly I’m sure, flinch. Whether it’s because I’m still wary of Oikawa or because the throws himself at my back is left undecided be said. It is probably both. Or mostly because I still have no idea what to say.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says into my ear. Damn it. His arms hang like weights off my shoulders, and he presses himself to my back much like a child would when he says, “You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

I’m slower to react than I normally am. Normally, as in, when you don’t enjoy your best friend draping themselves over you. Normally, when his breath doesn’t sear your skin and his voice doesn’t sound low and - _Shit._

I shrug away from Oikawa as quickly as I can, leaving him trailing behind on my way to the court.

 _It’s empty,_ I note belatedly.

"Yeah," he says from behind me as if I’d spoken out loud. He grumbles it, as he always will after being rebuked by anyone. _Not just me,_ I remind myself. Anyone. "Practice was cancelled today."

Against my better judgment, I swivel back around. "And you didn't tell me because?"

Oikawa weighs his response a minute before answering and I get the feeling he already knows what he was going to say. His considering something, if even briefly, all but raises a flag to me.

"Why were you avoiding me today?"

Damn it all. "I asked first." In my attempt to fend off his question, I probably sound like a child

Good thing Oikawa mirrors; "My question is more important! You disappeared at lunch, Iwa-chan, and that's a lot even for you."

 _Even for you._ Am I really so transparent?

I can’t pretend misunderstand, as sure as my immediate surprise would give any refusal a false footing, but even for me? The words sting a little. What have I done before, then? He makes it sound like - like I’ve _neglected_ him. Maybe, while trying to avoid my.. feelings... I’ve avoided him too much? 

Why does Oikawa notice everything? He at least should expect to be spurned and rebutted and turned down for the way he acts, even if all in good nature. We know each other well enough for that. 

It irritates me long enough for my feet to take him closer, to get right in his face. "And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

Just like that, Oikawa's indignation turns into a pout. He knows it’s unfair, but children are rarely sensible.

 _Alright, no. That’s cruel._ I have to stop myself from saying anything else. I feel my mouth twist into a frown, but I back down. If anything, this isn’t really fair to him. Not if I’ve read too far into his words. And by his sullen, slightly subdued face, that’s likely the case. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he explains, and after a beat, “but you knew that, Iwaizumi, so.. ?”

The way he trails off is clear: _why?_

I try to smooth out what I’m sure is a scowl, but I can’t, not when he’s looking at me like that and I’m too afraid to say _single_ fucking thing. “No.” Shrugging it off is what I usually go with. A denial. “Nothing, I just - stress.”

"Hajime.."

It’s under his breath, not meant to be heard, not meant to mean anything. But I would assume Oikawa is anything except unaware of how close I am too him. Maybe that’s just me, though.

Maybe it’s just me, that it sounds like that, too. What if, and the gods help me if it’s true, the differences I perceive in Oikawa are totally in my head? It makes sense. If you don’t think about it.

Anyway, when did I last hear anything but _Iwa-chan_ from that mouth? I can count on my hands with fingers left over and never in any seriousness. Never like this. The amount of sway it has is almost enough to bother me.

What I want to say is stuck in the middle of my throat and I’m unsure what words he’ll follow that with. Whether he’s going to finally to insist I tell him what’s going on, or whether he doesn’t care anymore. Him not caring at all.. I don’t know how well that would sit with me. I won’t go back on my word, though. I’d sooner he’d pried it out of me, or figured out on his own, puzzle it out, than me tell him to his face. If I had the courage, if I didn’t care about my pride.

I wait for him to say something. I wait too often, I think, sometimes. Too often I feel I’ve missed an opportunity to do something. To say something. Regret wasn’t something that was wholly unfamiliar to me, but this is different.

For the moment, everything is _careful._

I’m sometimes inclined to do leave things as they are, it seems, and by the rush that Oikawa delivers his words in, he is, too.

"I didn't.." A mildly frustrated exhale. It sounds like he wants to say more, but doesn’t know how to word it. It’s odd and anything but comforting. "You know, this could be _so_ much easier."

I can’t help my eyebrows from raising. "What could?"

Disbelief colors Oikawa's face. If it’s mock, he is definitely a better actor than I knew. If not, or should I know what he’s talking about? Should I be offended by his implications? That would mean pretending that I know what he means, though. No good.

I probably should, know what he’s going on about, that is. Signs point to maybe, but instinct to irresolution. And from that, denial or objection.

"Forget it. And the practice, I guess," is what I manage my response as. The only way I know how, really. Whatever Oikawa wants to say but is holding back, whatever this conversation is or going to become, I need out of it. If I get caught up, If I slip up and say something I don’t necessarily mean to, what then?

Although, I have to admit to myself that some part of me knows we’re both expressing frustrations that go beyond the words they we’ve exchanged.

"No," Oikawa blinks himself out what I can only assume is a reverie, and say with a lightness that feels fake, yet with a persuasion, "Let's practice anyway."

I don’t think I’ll ever understand him. Not completely. So I oblige, doubtful of everything again. Like usual, though, willing to let it rest for the sake of safety. I’d never think of it as cowardice.

I.. reconsider, however consecrated against the idea, after a half hour of perfect tosses from his setter. After a half hour of ruining every flawless play by rudimentary form, a disastrous cross spike, a tap that doesn’t even make it over the net. And, man, if my serves haven't seen better days.

Oikawa is more patient than he usually it. It takes ten minutes after I announce I’ve given up and another five before he relents.

On the pretense of returning a ball, maybe, he walks so solidly toward me. I almost wondered if Oikawa has actually had enough. Of me. But with my back against the wall, the ball in my setter's hands hits my chest with little restraint.

It drops to the floor. It bounces one, two, three times before it settles, hitting both of our feet before rolling away. It draws my eyes to it in my effort to look anywhere but in front of me.

"If you don't tell me what's bothering you I _swear to God -_ "

"I don't really think you'd like to know," I immediately swerve around the assertion, voice tight. I try to leave no room left for further prodding, but he won’t have it. Of course not.

Something part angry at not being trusted, so he thinks, darkens his eyes, but it struggles with something more concerned until a mix of mild hurt and questions filled them.

And then it’s for my ears this time, after I meet his eyes and he’s silent for an immeasurable amount of years, sounding more unsure and gentle than I almost can believe; "Hajime, _please,_ just tell me."

I look up, if barely, and God, those eyes. I don’t really know if I can trust myself when he’s this close. Maybe I shouldn’t, because, _Jesus Christ,_ I have this sinking feeling I’ve been a complete fool.

I can’t say anything. Not to apologize, because the act in itself is enough. The act I assuredly did not remember doing. It’s reflex, I guess, after this long of wanting to. My fingers brush his jaw, thumb running over his cheek before I can differentiate between what I _want_ and what I _should_ do, before I can stop myself. The way those eyes catch me, halfway between languid and suspense. It’s enough, I think, and damn me if I’m wrong, to go on.

I kiss him. _About fucking time,_ rings a voice in my head.

It doesn’t matter. Not the doubt, and certainly not the regrets. If anything, I think the only thing I’ll regret is not kissing him sooner. I can’t even think, but that’s probably for the better. I can’t talk myself out of anything by now, not when I swear those lips are smiling against mine. Not when his hands rake through my hair, slide down my to neck as if to keep me in place.

I don’t move. He presses me closer to him until I’m sure my skin is going to sear off. Until I’m sure Oikawa's hands, now under my shirt and wandering where they please, will take it off for me. My skin, but maybe the shirt with it. I can’t really find it in myself to care, not when Oikawa is a better kisser than he’s ever boasted about. I care about that. I care that certain I’ll be the only one who can confirm it for a while yet.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 hmu at greyravens.tumblr.com


End file.
